To a
rightly tempered mind, pleasure is a pleasant sight. And the
philosophic observer who could look upon this spring spectacle of
the lovers with any but friendly feelings would be indeed what the
great Dr. Samuel Johnson called "a person not to be envied."
Far be it from me to fall into such a desiccated and supercilious
mood. My small olive-branch of fancy will be withered, in truth,
and ready to drop budless from the tree, when I cease to feel a mild
delight in the billings and cooings of the little birds that
separate from the flocks to fly together in pairs, or in the
uninstructive but mutually satisfactory converse which Strephon
holds with Chloe while they dally along the primrose path.
I am glad that even the stony and tumultuous city affords some
opportunities for these amiable observations. In the month of April
there is hardly a clump of shrubbery in the Central Park which will
not serve as a trysting-place for yellow warblers and catbirds just
home from their southern tours. At the same time, you shall see
many a bench, designed for the accommodation of six persons,
occupied at the sunset hour by only two, and apparently so much too
small for them that they cannot avoid a little crowding.
These are infallible signs. Taken in conjunction with the eruption
of tops and marbles among the small boys, and the purchase of
fishing-tackle and golf-clubs by the old boys, they certify us that
the vernal equinox has arrived, not only in the celestial regions,
but also in the heart of man.
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